


In Memory of O'Malley

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-23
Updated: 2006-02-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8062768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: An unexpected death devastates Malcolm. (07/04/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: I would have had two wonderful betas, had I not been so stinkin'impatient. If it's bad, it's my fault and only mine.  


* * *

There were whispers all around when the mess hall doors swished open and Jonathan Archer walked in. His hands were locked behind his back, his eyes solemn, his head nodding slightly to the crew he had assembled.

Behind him, Malcolm walked, his arms straight at his sides. He stood beside Archer when the captain turned to his crew and cleared his throat.

"You're wondering why I've asked you all here," the captain said quietly. "I'm afraid it isn't good news." He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, suddenly hating his job.

"We lost one of our own this morning," he said. "Ensign Michael O'Malley was killed during an exploration mission.

"While Lieutenant Reed and I were bartering with the peaceful natives, Ensign O'Malley discovered that one of the natives had an explosive device on his body and was headed for the marketplace. Ensign O'Malley attacked the native, and in their struggle, both were knocked into a ravine.

"Neither of them survived the fall."

The captain paused, letting that sink in and swallowing against the lump lodged in his throat. His eyes brimmed with fatigue and regret.

Beside him, Malcolm was made of stone.

"Ensign O'Malley saved hundreds of lives, including mine and Lieutenant Reed's," the captain said. "He was a loyal and brave officer. He will be remembered and commemorated as such."

He scanned the faces of his crew, his eyes locking with Trip's. Trip's mouth was rounded, frozen in a silent "no." He had wrapped his arms around his torso, subconsciously fighting the reality of his captain's words.

"I have spoken to O'Malley's parents," Archer continued, his voice hitching at the memory of that conversation. "They requested that we have an Irish wake in memory of their son. In honor of that request, you are all invited to gather here at 1900 hours to remember this fine young man."

Archer didn't dare look at the man beside him. Pain was radiating from Malcolm's very body, but his face was carefully masked.

Jonathan's eyes flitted over the faces of his crew, and the shock and tears he found there were nearly his undoing. "Dismissed," he said tersely, and excused himself, heading for his quarters, his floppy-eared dog and a twenty-year-old bottle of scotch.

He hoped Malcolm would join him. And knew that he wouldn't.

Left behind, the crew rose to their feet, murmuring to each other. Some were in tears, and some were embracing and uttering condolences to each other. Unaffected by it all, Malcolm turned and walked toward the doors.

He was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm, and found himself looking into the pinched, white face of Trip Tucker.

"Y'alright?"

"Of course," Malcolm said tersely. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Trip shrugged. "Mike was your guy."

"And he knew the risks involved when he signed up for this mission," Malcolm's voice was cold. "Excuse me, Commander."

*************************

The mess hall had been transformed in the hours since Archer's announcement. When Malcolm, wearing his dress uniform, walked through its doors, the room's appearance caught him off-guard.

The captain's table was draped in a Starfleet flag, and atop it, the smiling eyes of Michael John O'Malley peered at him from a framed photograph. Lit candles surrounded the photograph and a rosary had been carefully draped beside it.

Malcolm stepped cautiously, as if approaching a coffin and not wanting to look inside. He reached out to touch the crystal beads, then raised his eyes to look at the photograph. Mike looked barely older than a child, his red hair cut in a short, regulation haircut and a sprinkling of freckles decorating the bridge of his nose. He was supposed to be solemn in this official Starfleet portrait, his own dress uniform spotless, but those eyes. those eyes always held a glimmer of mischief.

Now, that glimmer was forever gone.

Banishing the thought, Malcolm gazed at his friends and co-workers. Each of them was dressed the same: black pants, black shoes, a starched gray shirt covered mostly by their white jackets.

No one had told them to wear their dress uniforms. They had simply done so. Now they stood, nursing drinks and speaking softly among themselves.

The captain, too, entered wearing his uniform, his shirt and jacket brilliantly white, his pants pleated in perfect lines down his legs. He, too, seemed taken aback by the solemnity in the room.

He took his spot beside the captain's table and nodded to his crew. "Thank you for coming," he began. "At this time, I would ask that anyone who would like to share their memories of Mike O'Malley do so."

For a moment, no one moved; they glanced at each other to see who would go first.

Finally, Hoshi took a step forward. "Mike taught me how to play poker," she said. "I was really, really bad at it. But he wouldn't give up on me. For two weeks, we met here every night so he could teach me."

She sniffled loudly. "But I just couldn't get the hang of it. Finally, I told Mike I was going to give up, and he. he squeezed my hand and said." Her eyes welled with tears. She had to take a deep breath before she could continue.

"He said, 'Hosh, all things worth learning are worth learning well.'" She dropped her head. "And so, I. I kept trying."

She laughed tearfully and said, "I'm still not very good," Everyone smiled, and she smiled, too, remembering.

"But Mike never gave up on me," she whispered. Shaking the melancholy that threatened to consume her, Hoshi straightened her shoulders and held up her glass. "To Mike."

"To Mike," the crew echoed.

For the next half hour, those who weren't too choked up stepped forward to share their memories, to offer prayers and toasts. After Trip's mournful toast: "To Mike. a hell of an officer and a damn fine gentleman.". the crew's words seemed spent.

Archer pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and cleared his throat once again. "I received the obituary from Michael O'Malley's parents. They asked that we read it this evening." He turned to Malcolm. "Lieutenant, would you please do the honors."

A flicker of pain crossed Malcolm's eyes, a slight accusation shining there. All eyes were on him as he accepted the piece of paper the captain held.

Malcolm stood beside Archer, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep his British resolve intact. When he spoke, his voice was not the confident voice of an armory officer, but the quiet, broken voice of a man who had lost a friend that very day.

"Michael John O'Malley died suddenly on May 15, 2052, in the line of duty. He was born on April 4, 2028, in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. He graduated with honors from Starfleet Academy and was serving with the Starship Enterprise. He is survived by his fiancÃ© Louisa, his parents John and Maureen O'Malley, his sisters Caty and Erin, and many friends and cousins."

Malcolm stopped, his eyes glued to the paper, but his lower lip tremored slightly as he read the next line to himself.

"Lieutenant," Archer said quietly.

Malcolm's voice was barely audible. "Mike is further survived by Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, his superior and his friend."

Malcolm raised pleading eyes to Jon, but Archer's face remained impassive. Malcolm dropped his gaze to the paper he held.

"He is also survived by the crew of the USS Enterprise. They were his closest friends and his deepest pride. In lieu of flowers, his family requests that money be given to a scholarship fund set up at Starfleet Academy in honor of the first crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise."

"Oh my God," Trip moaned.

All eyes were on Malcolm. The armory officer folded the obituary with hands that trembled slightly. He looked as if he'd been slapped across the face. Worse, he looked like he was going to cry.

He didn't. He merely put the folded paper down beside the framed photograph and walked deliberately from the room.

Archer's eyes met Trip's, silently asking his friend if he'd done the right thing by having Malcolm read the obituary.

"Harsh," Trip mouthed.

Archer nodded, feeling bad for what he'd done. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the room.

************************

Malcolm had stalked into his quarters, but before he could slide the door closed, Archer was with him, watching as anger bubbled over from inside Malcolm. "Malcolm--"

Malcolm spun on him, his eyes filled with fury. "How dare you, forcing me to read that. HOW DARE YOU!"

"I thought it would make this real for you."

"Real? You don't think this is real for.?"Malcolm's tactic suddenly changed, and he muttered, "I need to go."

"Where are you going?" Jon's voice was calm, although his heart was breaking at the sight of his lover.

"To the bridge." Malcolm tried to key in his door code, but the captain held his hand over the key pad.

"You need to rest, Malcolm," Jon said quietly.

"I'm fine, sir." Malcolm managed to sneak in the code, and the door slipped open. He headed for the doorway and walked right into Jon's outstretched hand.

"Hold it, Malcolm," he said. "I don't think you are fine. I think you need to rest and talk to Dr. Phlox prior to returning to duty." He lifted his chin in defiance. "That's an order, Lieutenant."

When no one passed over the threshold, the door slid shut, sequestering them both inside.

Malcolm stepped back as if he'd been slapped. His face was masked in disbelief. "You're suspending me?!"

Jonathan shook his head. "You're making this very difficult."

"Captain, are you prohibiting me from duty?"

"Yes, but only because I think you need some time to process what has happened."

"I don't need time!" Malcolm cried. "I need. I need to keep busy. I need to work." Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "I need to know what went wrong."

"You won't find anything," Archer said. "It was an accident, Malcolm. No one knew there was a bomb."

"O'Malley knew!"

"There was no time for him to tell us. He did what he did to ensure our safety and the safety of the others." Jonathan took a step closer, holding out his hand. "Malcolm," he whispered, in the gentle voice of a lover.

Malcolm would have none of it; he wanted- no, he needed- Jon to be Captain Archer, not the man he loved. "No." Malcolm's lower lip trembled, but he bit it fiercely and turned away. "Excuse me, Captain. I'd like to go to the bridge now."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Not until you go talk to Dr. Phlox."

"Why?" Malcolm cried. "Because I'm not blubbering like the rest of you?"

Archer stepped closer to his armory officer. "Tell me, Malcolm. Have you shed a single tear? Because I have. Right after I talked to the O'Malleys, I bawled like a baby. Scared the hell out of Porthos--"

"You know, not everyone needs to keen and sob when someone dies," Malcolm shouted. "You bloody Americans are always wearing your hearts on your sleeves. Well, not everyone is like that!"

"I understand," Jonathan stepped even closer, sensing Malcolm was on the edge. "It's hard to lose someone. and it's even more bitter when it's someone so young. O'Malley had just turned 24. Right before he left, he proposed to his girlfriend; they were planning a wedding as soon as he came back. His mother said he loved kids; he wanted six of his own. But you probably already knew all that, huh? After all, you two were pretty tight."

"Not. not everyone. needs to. needs to rend their clothing and weep." But Malcolm was nearly weeping, his mouth turned down and his breath hitching. He struggled with the last of his restraint, pinching his index finger and thumb into his tear ducts.

Jon reached gently, touched his lover's shoulder. "He was your officer," Jon whispered. "And he was your friend."

Then Malcolm was sobbing, the raw. chilling waves of pain coming from somewhere deep inside him. For long moments, Archer just stood by, watching as Malcolm became unglued. When Malcolm's knees gave out, Jon circled an arm around his waist and led him to his bed. Jon sat beside him and wrapped his arms around his lover. Malcolm collapsed against him, the sobs wrenching from him in a voice he didn't recognize as his own. He clutched at Jon's shoulders, grabbing fistfuls of the white jacket as if they were his lifeline.

"It's okay, Malcolm."

Malcolm shook his head violently, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Yes," Archer soothed, reaching to run his fingers through Malcolm's brown hair. "It wasn't your fault. It was Mike's choice, and if it hadn't been for him, dozens of civilians would have died. We would have died. He did what you had trained him to do, Malcolm. He knew what the stakes were, and he did what any one of us would have done.

"Malcolm.He did exactly what you would have done."

Malcolm whimpered, but it was all he could manage. Jon tightened his grip and rocked his lover as he would a child.

For long moments, Malcolm recovered, his head resting heavily against Jon's chest, leaving wet, salty smears against the white jacket. Neither seemed to notice.

Eventually, Malcolm loosened the grip he'd had on Jon's clothing, and his arms fell limply to his sides. His eyes, bloodshot and swollen, slipped closed.

After long moments, Malcolm felt Jon kiss the top of his head.

"Are you tired, Mal?"

"Exhausted," Malcolm mumbled.

Jon pulled the blankets down and Malcolm gratefully slumped against his mattress. Unable to keep his eyes open, Malcolm rested his cheek against his pillow and sighed when he felt the blankets being lovingly smoothed over his weary body.

It had been an endless day.

He wanted to ask Jon to stay, but already he was in that place between wakefulness and slumber. Before drifting into restful, healing sleep, he felt Jon climb into bed beside him, forming his body against Malcolm's.

"Sleep now," Jon whispered, and with a sigh, Malcolm did as he was told.


End file.
